


Marry-Go-Round of Music

by strathspey



Category: Minecraft (Video Game), Video Blogging RPF
Genre: DSMP Prison arc, Emotional Manipulation, Gen, Mentioned Bitzel (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Technoblade (Video Blogging RPF), Mentioned Wilbur Soot, Sleepover arc, TommyInnit is an anomaly, TommyInnit-centric (Video Blogging RPF), slight physical abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 03:28:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strathspey/pseuds/strathspey
Summary: a hum filled the air. a childhood song turned exile song. a braid turned leverage. a feather falling decline of a boy trapped where he had no place to be. all while a hum filled the air.
Relationships: Bitzel & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Clay | Dream & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Technoblade & TommyInnit (Video Blogging RPF), Wilbur Soot & TommyInnit
Comments: 1
Kudos: 36





	Marry-Go-Round of Music

**Author's Note:**

> pls i wrote this because i was bored and was listening to music boxes im sorry

A hum filled the air. A hum that he never quite liked. A hum so unnatural and unhuman like, it sent shivers up his spine whenever he heard it. It was as if the god before him knew one song and one song alone. The melody never quite right, the rhythm ever so slightly off, the pitch just a little too low. 

Little weeps did nothing to satiate the eeriness that laid around the cell. All he wanted to do was to curl up in a bed and only awaken a week later. Anything to keep the god before him from brushing his hair and humming that incessant song. 

But perhaps the incessant song was better than the sickly sweet words the god would whisper. Little truths that he wanted so desperately to hear but never truly needed. Little lies that only caused his already disheartened mind to lean into the only source of consistency. Little truths and little lies. 

Maybe he could teach the god a new song. One from his childhood. After all, it could stop the incessant song from ever being hummed again. New song, no humming. And maybe the sense of fear that was brought on by the god’s humming was more of a sense of comfort. A sense of familiarity. Like the music box that played over and over again in Logstedshire. 

Can music boxes be scary? He wasn’t sure. As a child he had a snowglobe that was also a little music box. Oh, he could still remember the melody to the song. How peaceful it was. Just like a dance in the snow. No worries nor fears in sight. Just him and the gods that danced with him. 

Now that’s all there was. Fear and worry as the god before him brushed his hair and braided it. Braided it into a plait so reminiscent of his golden uncle. A fishtail. Something small and simple and painless. Yet how could something so painless bring so much pain? It felt as though his hair was being ripped from his scalp while sickly sweet words were uttered into his ear. Oh, how he wished the god would leave him alone. How he wished the god would stop braiding his hair.

Did he truly have the nerve to tell the god before him to stop? He would only ever be gifted a braid such as this if he were good. Perhaps he hadn’t angered the god today and deserved the plait that stuck out behind his head. And perhaps that even despite his weeps, he actually liked the feeling of fingers running through his hair. After all, it did remind him of when he was younger. 

Only that wasn’t always a good thing. When he was younger, he was simply found by Wilbur before they went their separate ways. When he was younger it was Wilbur and then it was Bitzel that braided his hair. Bitzel had just joined SMP Earth but even so he found it necessary before the war. Otherwise it would just get in the way. Not that it mattered. It was cut off in The God War. 

Even so. The feeling was familiar. As was the song. Like flying through the air with nothing but the rain and a trident. The smell of petrichor and the sense of icy cold droplets surrounding him. Hugging him. Freezing him to the bone yet warming him to the touch. And the song was like moss. Soft and sweet yet slimy and unnerving. That’s what the song was. Just like the music box in exile. 

Perhaps that was what the god wanted. Yes he had proclaimed it would be just like exile. But had he wanted to take him back to the forest? He wouldn’t put it past him. If the unhealing burns on his hands said anything, the god would be sure to keep him alive. A playtoy of the world.  _ His  _ playtoy. But that was okay. 

For the lava felt like his brother. Like a hug from his brother that would always be there for him. Like a hug from his brother who promised never to hurt him. Like a hug from his brother he so desperately wanted right now. But instead of a hug from his brother he was met with a hug from the god. A hug that felt too venomous to not be scared of. A hug that sent panic down his spine and froze him in place. All he wanted was a hug from his brother but instead he was met with a hug from the god. 

A hug from the god as fingers ran through his hair. 

_ A hug from a brother filled with fiery passion.  _

Perhaps it was okay. 

Perhaps it was okay if he listened to the god today. 

Perhaps his own, perhaps the god. Maybe even both 

But a hum had filled the air, nonetheless. 

  
  



End file.
